


Breeding Program

by Yen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bad Guy Breeding Program, Body Horror, Childbirth, Dark, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied Child Murder, M/M, Mpreg, Non-consensual Mpreg, Pregnant Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-23 11:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yen/pseuds/Yen
Summary: The Asset didn't understand what was happening to him. Pain, he was intimately familiar with, but notthissort of pain, which made him feel like he was being ripped apart from the inside.





	Breeding Program

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seinmit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seinmit/gifts).



The Asset groaned, a long, agonized sound issuing from his lips like the pained lowing of a dying animal. He panted. He moaned. Each time he did so - each time he so much as even twitched - a bone-deep stab of agony tore through him, radiating out from his lower abdomen throughout his entire body, setting his nerves alight with pain.

The Asset didn't understand what was happening to him. Pain, he was intimately familiar with, but not _this_ sort of pain, which made him feel like he was being ripped apart from the inside. 

He groaned again, low and uncomprehending, and attempted to thrash about in his agony. But his single wrist had been locked securely to the arms of the reclining chair, and his legs were fastened in stirrups on either side of it, spread wide apart, and he could not move an inch. A man in a white coat was standing between his spread thighs, shining a small light on the Asset as he peered down towards the source of his pain. 

"Almost there. It's crowning now," the man in the white coat said. 

_Crowning…_

The Asset's mind had been broken and pieced together and re-shattered time after time after time, but some vestige of memory still remained. The brainwashing had not fully stripped him of his entire faculties, and he still retained enough fragmented knowledge of the outside world, his _past_ world, to put the pieces together. To reach the impossible yet inevitable conclusion. 

Crowning. 

He was - 

He _couldn't_ be. It was impossible. And yet the Asset knew that it had to be true. When he looked down, he could see that his stomach was grotesquely swollen and distended, the skin stretched taut over his belly. Pain radiated out from his lower abdomen, cramping pressure and burning agony that came and went in waves. And the doctor - the doctor was now looking intently between his legs again, announcing to the room, "He's fully dilated and crowning has begun. It should be any minute now." 

"Take deep breaths and push," a voice on his left said cruel and mocking. "It's not exactly rocket science."

The Asset turned his head - the only part of his body that he was still free to move - towards the source of the voice. There was a man to his left, sitting on a chair with his legs casually crossed, seeming not the least bit fazed by the Asset's unimaginable suffering. The Asset did not recognise him, but the man's name tag pinned to his military fatigues read _B. Rumlow,_ and some primal part of the Asset's mind remembered enough to associate this B. Rumlow with _pain._

The Asset grimaced and tilted his face up towards the bare ceiling, not wanting to chase these memories any further. His mind was still reeling with horror from the sudden realisation that he was - in _labour._

In the _late_ stages of labour. 

It couldn't be. He was - he had to be dreaming. Having a nightmare. He had to - 

Another sudden stab of unimaginable pain tore through him, making the Asset feel as if he were being rent in two. The Asset shrieked. He was being torn apart. He could actually _feel_ his insides being ripped out of him, sliding hot and stinking and bloody out of his broken body, into the waiting hands of the doctor. 

It was as if a great weight had been suddenly lifted from his belly. The Asset panted for breath, his eyes burning with tears, mind still reeling from the abrupt cessation of the acute burning pain and the awful stretch. He still _hurt,_ but it was a dull persistent ache now. Blood continued to flow sluggishly out of him, trickling out between his thighs, but no one paid the Asset any attention. 

"Well?" Rumlow said impatiently to the doctor. "How's the baby?" 

"He appears healthy. His heartbeat, pupil dilation, muscle tone - his Apgar score is well within the normal range." 

For some reason, Rumlow looked disappointed to hear this. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. With a powered infant, the difference is strikingly obvious. Its physical reactions, its brain waves, would be measurably superior to the average human infant -" 

"Yes, yes. I understand," Rumlow cut in impatiently. "So this one is useless. Dispose of it. I thought - ah, well. One out of five times isn't _that_ bad. We'll try it again. Put him under." 

The sharp, cold horror of realisation swept over the Asset’s mind.

This wasn't the first time it had happened. 

And it wouldn't be the last. 

Panicked, he started to struggle hard, straining against the restraints on his wrist and legs. Weakened as he was from blood loss and the unrelenting agony of hours of labour, the primal horror of the situation ignited a burst of unknown strength from the deepest parts of himself. 

As the metal stirrups and restraints started to bend under the force of the Asset’s thrashing, Rumlow finally turned his full attention away from the infant and onto the Asset. 

“Interesting,” Rumlow mused, leaning down inches from the Asset to examine the bent metal. “I thought this was sufficient to hold him?”

The Asset snarled in rage and strained even harder, attempting to throw the entire force of his good right arm against the cuff. A metallic grinding noise rang out as the cuff began to detach from the arms of the reclining chair. Cracks started to appear on the surface of the metal restraints.

“It's supposed to!” the doctor said, looking alarmed. "He's also supposed to be sedated, but it's not working for some reason!" 

_"Longing. Rusted. Furnace.”_

The strength seemed to drain out of the Asset’s body at once. He froze as his body slumped against his will, a white fog beginning to descend upon his mind, clouding it with mist. 

_“Daybreak. Seventeen. Benign.”_

The Asset’s index finger gave a final little twitch, the tiniest of motions that could have been passed off as a simple muscle spasm.

 _“Nine. Homecoming. One.”_

With the greatest of efforts, the Asset willed himself to move, to lunge up off the chair. All he could manage was an agonizingly slow clench of his fist.

_“Freight car.”_

His vision went white.


End file.
